“What are you going to do, buy a little cabin, settle down with a wife and children?” Opal’s laughter fell silent nearly as quickly as it came out of his mouth when he saw that Bel was actually nodding. “What? How can you afford it?”
“I, unlike you, have been saving my share of the loot.”
Black Opal fixed the ruffles at his sleeves fastidiously. “Well, it’s amazing how much a fabulous wardrobe can cost isn’t it?”
Bellamy put his hand on Opal’s shoulder, “You can come with me. We don’t need her help. The Association wants her head, not yours.”
“If they wanted to kill me prior to her leaving them, then they want me no less dead now,” Opal asked.
“She was the one trying to kill you. What makes you think she still won’t?”
Opal absently studied the floor for a moment. It was quite dusty; someone should really get in there with a mop. “I believe what she told me.”
“Her?! She kills people for a living—”
“And we brutalize people and steal their money.” He removed Bel’s hand from his shoulder. “She’s a killer. Does that make her a liar?”
Bel stepped in front of him. “You’re right: We aren’t good men, but she is so far out of our league when it comes to the level of the crimes she’s committed. People tell bedtime stories about her that involve her coming to kill bad little children who don’t go to bed on time. No one tells children horror stories about us, Opal, think of that.”
“Well,” he said soberly and looked up at Bel with his hazel eye, “I’m sorry you aren’t going with us.” He pushed Bellamy gently to one side, “I wish you well, old friend.”
“Opal, are you sure?”
Black Opal set a rather dazzling hat on his head and flashed Bel a smile. “You know me; I have to go where the fun is.”
* * * * *
Cameo was having her flask refilled when Opal sprang down the last three steps. He had apparently decided purple was a much nicer color for traveling inconspicuously.
“All ready?” He grinned.
Lorraine ran toward him, “Opal, are you leaving so soon?”
“Will you be gone long? That looks like you’ve packed,” Charlotte called out, going over to him as well.
“What’s this, then? I don’t remember you wearing this before. Is it new?” Lorraine ran her rather grubby hand over the lavender jacket.
“It’s not new.” Opal peeled her fingers from his shoulder, and attempted to dust it clean with his glove.
Cameo strode past this scene on her way out the door.
“Goodbye, ladies.” He disentangled himself from Lorraine who was kissing him farewell.
Cameo smirked a little as he caught up. “Where’s Bel?”
“He...he had other plans, I’m afraid. Where are we going?”
“Graveyard of Yetta.”
“Graveyard—” Opal’s cheeriness seemed to dissipate. “But, that’s north of here. I thought we were going south?”
“No.” Cameo lifted her gray eyes, which were suddenly fixed. Her voice seemed to drop an octave, “We’re going north.”
* * * * *
The coachman who had been so uneasy at first meeting Cameo watched as a young man who worked for the printing press of Lockenwood tore down Black Opal’s old wanted poster and nailed up one that fingered him in the killing of Prince Leon. The price on Opal’s head had gone up substantially, so much so that the coachmen hoped they would run into that nefarious rogue so they could put a bullet in him and bring him in for the bounty. The lad from the printer’s also nailed up posters of Bellamy, Clovis Gail DePell, and Cameo herself. They were all wanted for the murder of the prince, and their posters were now hanging at the coach stop in Lockenwood.
Chapter Three
IT WAS EVENING BY THE time Cameo and Opal reached the graveyard of Yetta. Beyond the swinging wrought iron gate, the world became a cemetery that stretched on for miles and miles. This single graveyard was the resting place for nearly every former inhabitant of Lockenwood, Terrence, Yetta, Knoel, and every other nearby village. Many of the bodies laid to rest here had died during the smallpox epidemic that swept through Lockenwood when Opal was a little boy, many others in battles. Yetta graveyard itself had come to be simply because it was the site of an ancient battle, and the people of the time simply buried the soldiers where they lay, in the blood-soaked ground.
Cameo scanned the massive graveyard before her and sighed to herself; she felt herself being drawn into the burial ground, pulled straight down the main path.
Opal grimaced as he stepped into the cemetery behind her. “Cameo, slow down; I’ll never catch up at this pace!”
She stopped and walked back to him. Her body was a slender outline against the dim light on the horizon.
“Wait here.”
“Here?” Opal looked around at the crooked headstones in disdain.
“Yes, I think it would be wise.”
Black Opal slid to the ground with an exasperated sigh. “Where are you going?”
She smiled back at him with as much joy as she could muster. “My master is calling me, and I cannot delay. Stay hidden. I’ll be back for you.”
Now his interest was piqued. “Your master is here...in the graveyard?”
Cameo turned around sharply, unable to resist his call any longer, and headed back down the path, deep into the center of the necropolis.
The assassin finally saw the man who had called her. He was still just a silhouette in the distance, but she could see him leaning on a cane, the first rays of moonlight hitting his body and revealing a great swirl of fog about his thin and extremely tall body.
Before her was the man who had brought her back to life when she was near death. She lifted her ghastly, corpse-like eyes to look up at him. He was exceptionally pale, with exquisite features. Haffef had long, straight, black hair that brushed the ground; he wore a top hat and a black suit. He looked into her eyes with two glittering black gems.
Since the day that she had been left for dead, she had seen him, but it was a rare occurrence. She could actually count the number of times he had summoned her to him on one hand. Haffef had appeared to free her when Gail had held her hostage. It took him only a few days to decide Cameo wasn’t going to escape on her own. He came at night, while Gail was sleeping, cut her down and dragged her out of there. She surmised that he was probably incensed that she had gotten herself captured so soon after he had given her back her life, before she had really learned to take care of herself. In later years, he had only visited to give her instructions to follow, and this, she assumed, was why she had been called to him again. It was highly doubtful that he would care enough to lecture her about the state her life was presently in; things of that nature would be unimportant to someone as ancient as him.
“Gwen,” his voice was ethereal and seemed to echo out across the empty landscape.
She felt herself in a dream, and this man was like something one might see in a dream, beautiful but otherworldly ... like a watercolor painting. Now that she was beside him, the shadows started to come to life, in the distance, under the willow trees; from behind the tombstones there were shadows moving toward her.
“Master. How can I serve you?”
He lifted his eyes as if he noticed something different and looked beyond her down the path.
She could hear the hum of insects around his body intensifying.
“You aren’t alone?”
She felt increasing pain coming from the bite he had scarred her neck with so many years ago.
“No.”
Haffef looked down at the top of her blonde hair, interested, then back out at the empty path behind her. “I can smell his cologne.”
A hint of concern crossed her brow and he saw it.
He gazed into her ghoulish eyes. Although his face was expressionless, she could tell he was thinking—he was always thinking, weighing.... The dandy in the distance posed little threat to Haffef, and his face appeared to r
eflect that thought. Cameo knew she had guessed correctly in bringing her partner this close to her master: he was going to leave Opal alone.
Haffef seemed amused, “Opal is it?”
Cameo’s eyes widened.
“Ah, the tedium of a human life.... I’ll get right to the point. I need you to run a little errand for me in the town of Lockenwood.”
She felt the weight of the world suddenly fall down on her shoulders. She would have to go back into Lockenwood now that she had angered Wick—a fact quite evident now that she received information through her shade that she was a wanted woman. This little errand would’ve been so easy if Haffef had only asked it of her a few weeks prior.
“Yes, Master.” She lowered her eyes to the ground.
When she lifted her eyes again he was gone. She spun around on one heel to find him, but she was alone in the dark in the cemetery. At least she wasn’t far from one of her caches: a mausoleum where she had been stashing some of her equipment.
* * * * *
Cameo reappeared; her body was a silhouette in the moonlight on the path, and she was pulling on a glove that Opal hadn’t seen before: it had spikes on the back.
He was lying on the ground near where she had left him, his back propped up against a headstone for comfort.
“You know, I told Bel that I wanted to go where the fun was. This is a bit spookier than I expected.”
The assassin smiled at him in a knowing sort of way.
Opal stared at her gloves and then let his eyes wander freely over her leather-clad body. “You changed your clothes?” His voice held an odd hint of envy.
“I thought it wise considering Wick is most likely looking for me.”
“Where? Out here in the middle of a graveyard?” He stood up and scanned the area.
“Something like that.” She turned around and began to trudge into the cemetery. “Look, I have to get going.”
“What?” Opal grabbed his shoulder-pack and caught up to her. “You mean we of course.”
She stopped and turned around. Opal nearly ran into her, then took a half step back.
Her gaze lingered on the rouge he had reapplied to his lips while he was waiting for her, then she met his hazel eye, which seemed to be unable to find her eyes in the dark. She stepped back to allow the moon to give them a sliver of light.
“You can follow me if you want, but I am going back to Lockenwood.”
“Lockenwood?”
“Yes,” she headed back down the path into the heart of the cemetery.
The highwayman fell into step behind her.
Opal looked around wistfully at the mausoleums coming into view. “Isn’t there some children’s song about you living in Yetta Graveyard?”
She smiled to herself. “I don’t know—is there?”
“Yes, I really think there is.”
“Hmm.... I’ve never understood that.” She walked over to one of the very mausoleums that he had been staring at apprehensively and climbed in. “I don’t exactly live here, I just sort of hang around.”
Inside was a stack of suitcases. She tossed out several of the bags; one of them broke open revealing blankets within and answering the half-formed question on Opal’s lips.
“You know, like you do at the inn. But you don’t actually live at the inn, do you?” She raised an eyebrow as she lit a candle, and then beckoned him to come inside the mausoleum with her.
Black Opal hesitated but walked into the tomb with her.
“Here, hold this,” she said, handing him the candle.
He took it and looked around the small, cold room. The light fell upon a coffin.
She forced the door closed. It was old and unused, and squeaked as it shut. As she turned she found Opal, visibly paler, seemingly holding his breath, and smiled inwardly.
“Thanks,” she took the candle from him and set it in a sconce on the wall. It smelled sweet inside a combination of long dead flowers, and long dead people. She turned to the suitcases now, opening and emptying one after another, pulling out all the blankets she could find. “I never thought these would come in handy for anything, but now I’m pleased I decided to pack blankets to give my baggage some heft instead of rocks or something else.” Her face seemed amused and warm in the golden light of the candle.
“Yes, that was a good choice,” Opal said absently as he leaned up against the coffin. “I don’t suppose that’s where you’ll be sleeping?”
“In a coffin? No, it’s already occupied.”
A look of disgust crossed his face, “Really?”
“He’s not terribly fresh if you’re concerned about the smell.”
Opal met her gray eyes, amused, and set his rather spectacular hat down on the coffin with a flourish. He looked down at the blankets spread out on the marble floor and sat down across from her.
“We’re sleeping here tonight?”
“It’s very safe. No one comes to the cemetery at night—”
“Except your master.”
She pulled some hardtack and her flask from some belt pouches. “Well, yes.”
The fop removed his pack and began to go through it, finding some apples and wine, and a hand-mirror.
“Ghost stories keep people away from Yetta. I figured that out when I was young.... Well, when I first had to hide from unhappy people.”
She took a swig from her flask, the whiskey was a welcome release from this dank cemetery. She lifted her eyes and found Opal staring at her chest unabashedly.
“You know, I can think of other clothes that are less conspicuous for a woman. Why not a dress after all?”
She appraised his purple ensemble as she peeled off her gloves, “Yes, let’s try not to be too conspicuous.”
Opal followed the delicate shape of her fingers and her hands as the gloves came off, revealing the three black tear drops, the tattoo of the Association. He uncorked the wine, “You said we were going to Lockenwood?”
“Uh huh.” She took a last drink of whiskey and laid down beside the coffin, facing him.
He glanced about the tomb for a moment, unsure where he was going to stretch out. “There’s not much room in here.”
“I know. That’s why I took the spot nearest the coffin.”
“Oh well. Thank you, my dear.” Opal quickly repacked his bag and tried to make himself comfortable on the very hard floor beside her.
“Aren’t you going to take off your sword?”
“Oh, yes. I nearly forgot.” He unbuckled his belt and set it off to one side.
She pulled a blanket over them.
He tried to relax within the mausoleum, next to a corpse, on a very hard floor...with Cameo’s breath against his neck. “I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight.”
“I trust you will.”
He could feel the press of something hard against his leg. “Are you still wearing your pistol?”
She laughed against the blanket.
He sighed uneasily.
After a time she said, “My master wants me to get something for him from someone in Lockenwood.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to go back to that place.”
“I don’t,” she said soberly.
“Don’t do it.”
She stared at his blonde ponytail lying on the floor in front of her, the curve of the his back in the tight lavender jacket. “I have to do it.”
The hopelessness of her situation frustrated her.
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“Is he holding something over you? Blackmailing you?”
She snorted a bit in amusement, then said, rather defeatedly, “No.”
“Well, I don’t think I like this chap much. I don’t think you should run errands for someone if there isn’t something in it for you.”
She thought of the stab wounds that were now only scars on her torso. “I owe him.”
The floor pressed uncomfortably against Opal’s shoulder. “Do you sleep here a lot?”
“W
hen I’m in trouble. So, it’s been a little while.”
“Hate to think of a lady sleeping out here in the cold.”
She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Uh huh.”
Cameo nestled in against his ponytail. “Your cologne smells really good.”
“Yes, Thank you.” The candle flickered as the wind started to kick up again.
* * * * *
Outside the sun was bathing the graveyard in a bit of a silver glow, and Cameo was sitting on a short, square headstone, eating breakfast. She was trying to absorb as much heat as she could from the stone beneath her thighs, which wasn’t much. Faetta had two seasons, winter and summer, and summer was long gone. She watched her own breath snake around her face between bites of bread, staring at the stones in front of her. It was early, and she was barely awake. She gazed mindlessly at the grass and dead leaves at the base and their shadows in the morning light. It stretched out toward her, it had form, and a torso—the shape of a man. Not far from it was another man, a shadow of a man, and then to her left, out the corner of her eyes, she noticed another.
She took a swig of wine. She realized there was a mob of shadow people surrounding her, unmoving, seemingly waiting her out.
Opal tumbled out of the tomb, holding the back of his neck; he did not seem to be able to stand up straight.
“Tell me again why I left Bellamy behind at that nice warm tavern?”
“I’m not quite sure,” she said, pulling her gaze from the shades.
“Fun. I actually think that was what I told him.”
Cameo appraised the purple jacket, which was much more crumpled than it had been a day ago, “That color is very lovely.”
He fixed her with a dark expression.
“Wine?” she offered.
Opal turned half-heartedly back toward the mausoleum, then stopped suddenly because his stiff neck would only turn so far before it protested. “Isn’t that my wine?”
“Oh, is it? It’s not too bad really—”
He took it from her and drank it down quickly.
“Yes, it does a fair job of numbing the pain... I suspect.”
“I can’t believe you slept in that place and aren’t even slightly sore.”
Cameo the Assassin Page 5
